


I wish I could fly

by Hopefully_not_a_shitty_ballerina



Series: Depression Drabbles [7]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Bullet by Hollywood undead, Death, Depressed Tyler Joseph, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, I'm Sorry Tyler Joesph, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Real Events, Pill popping, Self Harm, Self-Harm, Song fic, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, Triggers, don't hurt yourself yall, it made me feel better, it's a slippery slope, this was a vent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:00:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21674332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopefully_not_a_shitty_ballerina/pseuds/Hopefully_not_a_shitty_ballerina
Summary: I cried writing this. it's been a hard day, and I'm sorry if I make any of you cry as well. Stay alive friends |-/
Series: Depression Drabbles [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/958326
Kudos: 11





	I wish I could fly

It started with a bad day. That bad day turned into a bad week, and into a bad month, and suddenly Tyler found himself sitting on top of the parking garage in old town. It was three in the morning, he’d slipped out his parents’ home in the early hours, desperate for relief. He couldn’t hurt himself in his parents’ house, he’d promised not to. Then again, he’d promised a lot of things when he got out of the hospital, not to self-harm, to take better care of himself, to talk to people when he was depressed. He’d just stopped doing it, and everyone assumed he’d gotten better. He took a deep breath and looked of the side of the building, noting the daunting distance to the ground below. He would jump, but he wanted to think first. How’d he end up here? Let me explain.

He’d gone to far, cut too deep as he could already feel the numbing pain of blood-loss trickling into him limbs. He’s wrapped them of course; he didn’t want to die that way. No, he didn’t want to die by self-harm, that would be to simple. It would also guarantee that his mother or his siblings would find him, and that was something Tyler couldn’t handle. He didn’t want to hurt anyone else, just himself. Self-harm was more of a stress relief agent that he used to punish himself. His parents used to hit him when he was wrong or bad, and he’d begun to associate it with the only way to be forgive for his mis-actions. His mother had cried when he told her, at the request of his therapist. His father’d gone quiet from the truth that fell from his lips. They didn’t know what to say, and come to think of it, neither had Tyler. It was such a weird thing to think, they said that it couldn’t possibly be the reason he self-harmed, and Tyler agreed. It wasn’t the only reason. It was a relief, a release of tension and one of the only ways Tyler could calm the raging in his mind.

Legs dangling off the edge of the roof, he took a long drink of the gin he’d stolen from his parents’ liquor cabinet. He’d made sure to grab the cheap stuff, so he wouldn’t put them out too much money. He’d left a note, as one does, requesting to be cremated. To living Tyler, cremation was terrifying, but to dead Tyler, it would be one of the only ways not to inconvenience his family with crazy funeral expenses. He took another drink before looking over the edge again. The time was slowly ticking, he knew his mother would find his letter soon, if she hadn’t already. It was nearing five in the morning, and Tyler’s legs had begun to fall asleep for sitting on the cold roof so long.

No, he didn’t want to hurt them, but he knew that death would hurt them, if only for a little while. But it was getting harder to be alive, to face his family every day, living a lie of happiness. He was a horrible person, really, he was. He’d convinced his family, and his friends otherwise, but that only proved how far he could go to uphold his façade. Even his therapist, bill, was convinced that he was a good person, but it couldn’t be farther from the truth. He was a rotten person to the core, he was short tempered, rude, insensitive, manipulative, and many more things. He hated himself.

He’d been having trouble sleeping lately, he couldn’t dream himself away from his pain. He’d been up for three days now, unable to sleep, unable to dream, unable to think really. He’d tried to end it last night. He’d taken all the antidepressants he had, mixed with a fistful of pain meds, and various other assorted medication, only to wake up and vomit his brains out a few hours after falling asleep. He’d hated himself then, sitting in the bathroom basically hugging the toilet. In-between spouts of vomit, he’d lay on the floor and trace the old scars on his wrist, and silently wish he could give himself more. It’s been a while since he’d done anything. He’s gone to therapy, gone to get help for his issues, only recently being cleared from the medical hell that had been rehabilitation therapy. He could drive again, live alone even, he wasn’t required to see his therapist multiple times a week anymore either, but none of that seemed to matter anymore. None of his progress felt worth dealing with his depression, worth dealing with the everyday crushing pain that he’d become so used to.

He wore his suit. The one that he’d bought for his uncle’s wedding years ago. Miraculously it still fit him well enough. He found it a little silly but thought it best to meet god in his best piece of clothing, rather than vomit stained pajamas or in his everyday street clothes. The sleeves were tight, but it was because of the ripped towel securing his self-inflicted wounds closed, rather than him growing to much for the suit to fit.

The sun began to peak over the horizon, a quick glance at the now empty bottle of gin told him he was nearing the end of his time. He wondered how his sisters would take it. He wondered how his brother would grieve.

The sound of sirens filled the air as tyler stood and straightened his suit. He hummed a little, a children’s song he’d gotten stuck in his head.

_I wish that I could fly~_

He turned away from the edge and slowly walked away from it, his chest rising and falling quickly. They would be here soon, he had to hurt up.

_Way up in the sky~_

The heavens called his name, his grandfather called for him, what he said Tyler didn’t know, he’d find out soon enough. The ground looked soft, as his vision blurred and tears sprinkled the ground. Why was he crying? He wanted this.

_Like a bird so high~_

“STEP AWAY FROM THE EDGE OF THE BIULDING!”

Tyler took a deep breath and turned on his heal. He could do this, just ignore the people on the ground. A small crowd had gathered, so many people, screaming crying for him to stay alive.

_Oh, I might just try~_

From his spot on the roof he turned again, and faced the roof’s edge. It was a good twenty feet from him. He broke into a run towards the edge of the building, sprinting as hard as he could. His blood roared in his ears, drowning out the screaming people below. Three seconds now, and he’d reach the edge.

_Oh, I might just-_

He jumped. His stomach caught in his throat as he panicked. He hated this feeling the feeling of falling it was scary, too much too painful too-

Tyler black out. he didn’t know if he hit the concrete, but he must have done something right for his drunk mind to shut off. The world was soft, like the softest cloud in the sky. His grandfather greeted him, his departed family hugged him. There were no tears, no pain. He was finally free.

**Author's Note:**

> I cried writing this. it's been a hard day, and I'm sorry if I make any of you cry as well. Stay alive friends |-/


End file.
